


Caramel Latte’s In The Morning For You, Love.

by valkyrievega



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry Is a Witch, Louis Tomlinson is a Little Shit, M/M, Niall's ace, They share a braincell and Zayn owns it most of the time, everyone's cool with it cause its valid as crap, no beta writer, the chicken's a demigod, this might as well be called a crack! fic tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrievega/pseuds/valkyrievega
Summary: The first time I couldn't resist a prompt.Or:Louis is 5'2'' and Harry's new in town.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. A man, a chicken (?) and a dressing gown walk into a diner

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first time I've put any serious work into a fanfic. First time I'm putting a WIP out there at all, too, so I am hoping for genuine criticism, if y'all have got it. Also, I may be way too late for this party, but I hope that's ok. Hope you like the introduction to this shindig !!

Listen. Louis led a relatively simple life- and that was nothing to complain about. He ran his diner, he babysat his niece on Sundays’, and he enjoyed the peace, books, and caramel lattes that his life provided him. Sure, it’s a relatively small city; honestly a glorified large town- but it’s cute. It has a bakery, his diner-café-whatever thing, a movie theater- even a yearly amusement park. 

So, when a curly haired stranger in a suit, and- what appears to be a dressing gown? Holding a chicken no less, walks into his store, there’s no doubt a few stares. 

“Who’s the fuckin’ weirdo?” Zayn, his main chef, secondary barista (he'll be damned before he admits they make equally good coffee) and general partner-in-crime mutters to him from behind the counter- watching just as enraptured as everyone else. You don’t see too many people dressed like that around here, Louis muses. Certainly you don’t see too many people dressed like that seeming so enraptured by looking at their surroundings. 

And he takes his time, too. His eyes graze over every curtain, lighting fixture and painting in the place, before settling on the menu. It makes Louis feel, ridiculously, like he has a cataloque in his head that he’s checking off, to see if this is the right place. More than that, it feels like he has an innate knowledge about the place. Like he knows how his sisters did their homework in the corner for years before they got a study in their house, like he knows why Louis opened the place at all. 

It’s unsettling. Not frightening, though. Just unsettling. Especially with his ring-adorned hand petting his feathered companion much akin to how a movie villain pets their cat (Louis knows a lot about movie villains, and is particularly interested in how their portrait in the media comes into play with who's considered the 'bad guys' of the world; for example in the cold war up until the early nineties, most accents were Russian or German. However, lately they've been turning phrase on American and pompous English, and for good reason). 

“Dunno,” Louis whispers back behind his latte, not letting on how affected he is, ‘but I certainly plan to find out.” 

“Oi, mate, are you lost?” Louis asks the man as he finally approaches the register. 

The man gently places his chicken onto the counter. He leans forward onto his elbows- getting pretty much eye-level with Louis. A small feat, considering he had to be at least 6’0’’. There’s a strange familiarity to the gesture. 

What isn’t familiar is how he sweeps his hands around in a motion that reminds Louis of a cow swatting flies. His hair threatens to break loose of being civilised, and bobs with the way he’s moving.

“Are you? Lost?” He looks absolutely chuffed with himself; like he's actually managed to be cool and mysterious and not just plain weird.

Louis stares. Zayn snorts behind him. 

“Apart from the fact that I’m lost for words because your dirty chicken is on my counter, no, not to my knowledge.” 

The man instantly beams at the response, seemingly not being able to take in the underlying sarcasm.

“Don’t mind Daisy, she’s perfectly clean- aren’t you, girl?” 

The hen honest to god clucks back at him as if she’s talking. 

Louis blinks down at the chicken. He looks back at the man. He blinks again. 

The man keeps looking at the menu, having apparently decided that Louis won’t take his chicken- won’t take Daisy, off the counter. Louis really is lost for words this time. He looks back at Zayn, who for once in his life seems not to have anything to say either. 

Daisy keeps clucking softly. It’s remarkably intonated, Louis notes, side-eyeing her. 

“I’ll have… a hotdog to go, and what will you have Daisy?” 

She clucks again. The man nods along. 

“Do you guys have any grains?” 

“I- what?” He asks, dumbfounded. 

Harry just gives him an encouraging smile. 

“Do you guys have any grain in the back?” He asks again, softer and a little slower this time. Gravelly, Louis notes. 

This is one of the strangest men he’s ever met in his life. He takes a pause, thinking about whether they actually do have what the man’s asked for. Or what the chicken’s asked for. Whichever. He's so flustered by the question he doesn't take a pause to wonder how the man seems to know that talking softer, slower- makes him less overwhelmed. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “we have oats and cornbread flour and stuff if that’s what you’d like?”

“Sensational.” The same tone of voice, same knowing smile. Louis really feels, almost overwhelmingly, like he should be saying something else right now. And also like he's in a trance. 

“Is that all to go, then?” He can’t possibly think of what that something else would be. 

“Hm? Oh, no, Daisy’s will be eat in.” 

He smiles innocently. 

“But. Yours is still to go.” Louis frowns. 

The man nods, dead serious. 

“Oh yes.” 

He looks like he has an inside joke Louis is supposed to be in on. What is with this guy?

“Right.” 

That smile is right back on again. Large enough that Louis can make out two dimples on his cheeks. 

“Yep.” He says, popping the ‘p’. 

“We’ll need your name for that, then.” Zayn pipes up. Bastard. 

“Oh!” The man exclaims. Louis can’t tell if it’s because he’s genuinely only just noticed Zayn exists in what now feels like a combined liminal space, or if he’s forgotten his own name. 

The chicken clucks again.

“My names Harry. I’m new in town!” He says, as if they hadn’t noticed. As if everyone in the last hour hasn't probably looked at him like he has two heads and five ears. 

“Alright, Harry, I’ll bite- how long are you here?” Zayn asks. 

He shrugs a shoulder. It’s frustratingly endearing, considering that Louis normally hates non-verbal answers to verbal questions. 

“Going with the wind, mate.” 

“Right.” Zayn looks like he’s trying desperately hard not to laugh in the poor guy’s face. 

“Like Mary Poppins?” Louis asks blankly, briefly coming back online after short-circuiting. 

“Like who?” Harry asks, attention already back on Louis un-waveringly. It almost gives him whiplash. Somewhere, in the back of his head- he realizes how, before he had gotten distracted by Zayn- he had this guys; Harry's, full attention. It's a strange, overwhelming energy, having Harry take him in like he is. Somewhere else in Louis' brain, he snorts at how cliche he sounds. A third part, a very dark and secret part; whispers that there aren't better words for it. 

“You- you don’t know Mary Poppins,” Louis says, still reeling. Can you RE-short-circuit? 

“…Should I?” 

The chicken clucks again. Harry looks at her. He nods his head minutely, looking suddenly determined. His cheeks turn just the smallest bit pink. 

“I haven’t seen it. I’ll add it to my list of things to understand.” 

What the fuck, Louis thinks. Zayn interrupts again by putting his order on the counter. And the grain. It's even in a little espresso cup. Louis needs to fire him. 

“Well, if that’s everything, then, Harry,” he says. 

Harry grins again. He stands up properly, so that Louis- who is not staring, thank you very much; has to tilt his chin to see his face. And his jaw. And, starkly; Louis realizes (first of all that he's been doing an awful lot of realizing, as of late); that he can’t find it in him to be offended that he had bent down to talk to him in the first place. 

He grabs his things, and then very delicately takes the espresso cup filled with grain, placing it on the breakfast nook they have near the counter. Daisy walks up to it, looking as content as a chicken without the ability to change its facial expression can look, even when she has to flap her wings a bit to make the jump up from the service counter. Harry stays to make sure she starts eating, cooing at her so softly that Zayn and Louis can’t make it out, and then turns to leave. 

“Wait!” Louis says, anger building in his gut, flushing away the haze of talking to this strange man. 

Harry immediately turns his head. Louis tries not to blush. 

“Yes?” 

“What about the chicken?” Louis says, sweeping his hand to the direction of her. 

“Oh, don’t worry about her, she can make her own way about.” He says. 

“I’m worried about my damned café!” 

“Diner!” Zayn shouts from the back. Louis clenches his teeth together but doesn't respond. 

Harry looks puzzled. He’s turned back around fully now, and seems to be categorizing Louis in a strange way. He feels vulnerable, even though this man knows nothing about him. He’s pretty sure. 

“You don’t have to be worried, Daisy doesn’t do property damage, do you girl?” He finally says. 

Daisy clucks. Harry nods once again, and with a frankly dramatic twist of his nightgown, leaves. 

Louis turns to look at the chicken.

He looks at her. 

She looks at him. 

She clucks. It’s just once, but Louis somehow knows that Harry isn’t lying. He grunts, satisfied. 

“I’m not going to talk to you the way your friend does.” He says. 

Behind him he can hear Zayn choke on a laugh. 

“Who does property damage?” He asks himself as he gets back to work, distinctly NOT looking at the door that Harry walked through, thank you very much.

\----------------------------------------- 

It’s been the rest of the day. And then some. While Harry was right, and Daisy did not cause property damage (didn't so much as have a little chicken poo, actually)- she did have a nap on the counter through the lunch rush, refusing to move for anybody. The customers loved her; she even let some of them pet her head if she wasn’t too awake. Louis keeps an eye on her, and steers clear most of the time. 

At one point she clucked when her little cup was finally empty. Originally Zayn was going to take it away, but the clucking was quickly turning to squawking. They eventually figured out she wanted a refill. 

It was around that point that Louis realized that Harry guy hadn’t paid for the grain. Not that you pay for that sort of thing, he supposed. 

It’s the end of the night, though- with no Harry in sight. Louis is starting to get worried that he’s going to have to adopt a freaking chicken because some air-headed idiot couldn’t find his way back to the café (Diner. Whatever.) he left her in. Zayn left half an hour ago with the wise words of “she’s well behaved, you’ll be fine.” That fucker. If he didn’t make the second best coffee in the city, and wasn't his damned business partner, Louis would have fired him by now. Maybe he still will. See how he likes that chicken then. 

He’s still mumbling to himself, lost in thought and vague anxiety over Daisy finishing his closing tasks, when Harry rushes through the door, dripping wet and flushed. 

Well. 

Pushing through the fact that he looks like a strange vision from a wet dream (pardon the pun), Louis looks outside. 

“It isn’t raining.” He says unhelpfully. 

“No, it’s not.” 

“It’s really late.” 

“Yes, I am,” Harry says, even though that had only been implied, “I’m really sorry. Things got out of hand. And into fish.” 

“Into fish.” Louis repeats dumbly. 

Although there are only a few track records, it seems as though whenever Harry’s around a fog of ‘what the fuck’ and ‘ridiculously handsome’ lay over Louis. He has a feeling that isn’t going to go away anytime soon. He doesn’t know if Harry will, though, being ‘new in town’ and all. 

“Yes.” Harry says. 

He doesn’t elaborate. 

Louis stares. Harry stares back. 

Daisy clucks, the smug bastard, and Louis jumps. Harry doesn’t stop looking at him, but he does turn his head to one side for a moment until Daisy stops clucking. 

There’s a pause before either of them says anything. Louis just feels confused. He’s pretty sure he’s not doing a good job of hiding that fact, either. 

“I didn’t pay you for the grain.” 

“Well, no, but I figured that was fair enough, it was for the chicken.”

Once again, Harry gets this look on his face. Just briefly. Like he’s looking closer to Louis and who he is and how. Like he knows him. Really knows him. The look passes, and he smiles down at him. His face really is expressive, Louis notes. So much so that there's certainly more than one emotion in that smile, and Louis can't place any of them. He imagines he'd have to get really good at reading this guy to figure out what a smile like that actually means; although one thing's for certain, in that it's not mean. He gets the distinct impression that for all his misunderstandings of social situations; Harry couldn't be mean or intimidating if he tried.

“Let me pay for the grain. Really. It’s the least I can do.” 

Louis opens his mouth to argue- but, really, he’s not wrong. He did babysit his chicken all day for him, after all. 

Why did he do that? 

He closes his mouth and nods. Harry’s smile grows. 

He reaches into his pocket, but what he pulls out clearly isn’t money. 

He holds the small object in his hand like it’s something precious, gestures for Louis to open his palm and take it from him. 

“What?” Louis asks, if anything for a lack of anything else to say. He’s not paying in money? 

“What?” Harry asks 

“What do you mean what? What are you trying to give me?” Louis snaps, suddenly reminded that for all accounts this man has acted incredibly strangely. If it were anyone else, Louis is sure, he wouldn’t think of them as remotely trustworthy. Maybe even a drug addict. 

Oh my god what if Harry’s a drug addict. 

As if Harry, or maybe even Daisy knows what he’s thinking (the chicken understanding his thoughts, as if), he just extends his hand further, lets whatever it is glint in the light. 

Huh. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, much as it has in the past; Louis reaches out for it. Very seriously, Harry slowly lets it go into Louis’ palm. 

Louis, too shocked to register anything other than it’s kind of cold, definitely wet and red, automatically puts it into his pocket, a grunt of thanks coming without his permission. 

Harry’s face immediately changes to disappointed. Crestfallen, even, in a wistful sort of way. 

Before Louis can say something, or do something or even think something, Daisy clucks. Harry nods his head again; shakes his head a little bit, lets it return to what Louis can only infer as his normal glassy eyed, vaguely happy resting face. 

“Yes, right, we’ve taken up so much of your time today. Thank you so much, I’ll clean up the water.” He says it so calmly, so surely, that Louis doesn’t really take in much apart from the fact that it IS late, and he IS tired; and that this is an opportunity to close up the shop properly. He feels relieved.

And it’s that relief, and it’s that thought process that doesn’t lead him to question how Harry will clean up the water from outside the shop; the thought process that allows Harry to grab Daisy with no issue and follow him, still dripping, out of the door- waiting patiently for Louis to lock the diner. Café. Whatever. It’s this exact thought process that doesn’t allow him to understand the strange weight of those words until he’s flopped into bed, after they said an awkward (for Louis, at least, Harry seemed ridiculously chipper for someone who must be so cold) goodbye and an even more awkward moment where they walked the same way almost exactly until Louis arrived at his street. 

How would he clean the water up? 

It was this thought, specifically- that stopped Louis from looking properly at what Harry had given him until he woke up the next morning. 

And it’s a secondary thought process, the fact that Harry seemed just ever so calm, that makes him think the ruby is fake until he asks Zayn about it the next morning. After he walks in and the floor seems the cleanest it’s ever been. 

What the fuck.


	2. The Chicken Crosses The Road. Kinda.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans in the cafe-diner-thing. I had too much fun with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less tension with Harry and Louis because of the introduction of a special Irish bloke; but this shall be duly rectified in chapter three I promise ! I think Daisy is starting to become the star of the show anyway.

It sounds strange, not that there’s something that isn’t strange about Harry, Louis supposes- but they get into a routine. Wednesday mornings, because of course all of this is always on a Wednesday- Harry drops Daisy off just before the lunch rush. Then he just… Leaves. For the rest of the day. He hasn’t been late again to pick up Daisy as of yet, though. Sometimes he has lunch, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes Daisy wants some grain (Louis and Zayn have both gotten much better at understanding what she wants, and they both do their best to ignore the fact that she’s a damned chicken and shouldn’t know how to indicate what she wants in the first place), sometimes she doesn’t.

What remains ridiculously constant, however- is that Harry always gives Louis something when he picks Daisy up. Most of the time it’s something valuable, too, which Louis can’t for the life of him understand- he keeps wanting to ask Harry where he even gets them in the first place, but there’s something in his eyes that stops him every time. It took three weeks before he apologized for disregarding the first one that Harry gave him, too. 

Harry appreciated it, he said, but that Louis doesn’t owe him his gratitude. He’s simply paying. He doesn’t answer what he’s paying FOR, though, which is frustrating Louis just about as much as possible. If he weren’t so damn handsome, and seemingly so ridiculously trustworthy. And polite. And handsome, did he say handsome? Well the point is, he’d have a lot more to say about it too. 

As it stands, when Harry walks in for the 7th Wednesday morning in a row, no one in the store bats an eye anymore. Harry, to his credit- hasn’t worn a dressing gown since the first time. Nor has he taken quite so long to survey the café (diner. Whatever.) when he’s walked in again, either. 

But, as usual, he takes a deep breath- and smiles. At the diner (café. Whatever.). And then smiles harder when he catches Louis’ eye. 

Louis, to his credit, only blushed the first three times that happened. 

If you had asked Zayn, which nobody had, he would’ve told you that was a blatant lie. If anyone, especially someone called Louis, had asked Zayn one iota of the start of a question about Harry, he would have said immediately that no, Louis- he doesn’t look at anyone else like that. No, Louis, there is absolutely no chance this mess of a strange person is straight. He owns the weirdest chicken I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, Louis, what the fuck are you two waiting for? 

Alas, no one thought to ask. 

And so, oblivious to Zayn’s knowing look, Louis smiled back at Harry- who, was, in turn- oblivious to everyone around them, bar Louis. 

As custom by now, Daisy walks herself up to the counter and clucks to Zayn, who has become quite accommodating to the chicken’s requests by now, and he picks her up to let her on. 

Louis gives a sideways glance to the chicken, still vaguely wary and painfully aware of the fact that had it been anyone else, or any other chicken for that matter- he wouldn’t allow this behaviour in his café. Diner. Whatever. 

“What’ll it be today?” He asks Harry. He’s really asking Daisy. Everyone in the conversation knows this. 

Daisy clucks her response, and Harry translates, as is custom by now. 

“Just water for today, please. Had a big breakfast. Did you know chickens can eat pancakes, as long as there’s no egg in there? Some of them will still eat it even if it does have egg in it, mind you, but they aren’t smart like Daisy is.” 

No, they’re not, Louis thinks. Well, it's either that or everyone he knows is experiencing a mass hallucination of the chicken in question. Which is a crazier idea... right? 

Anyway, although the strange feeling of what Louis has decide to call The Haze has never been as strong as it was when Harry waltzed in that first day, it hasn’t fully faded yet either. Sometimes, when he thinks really hard about Harry, it happens even when he isn’t there. 

Not that he does that often. 

“Pancakes.” He repeats. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks. There’s subtext, Louis is sure, but he can’t read it. 

“We do pancakes.” He says, vaguely offended. 

“Without eggs?” 

“We have vegan options.”

Harry considers this. 

“I didn’t know you were open for breakfast.” He says, answering Louis’ unasked question ‘why didn’t you come here’. Louis doesn’t know how he manages to do that every time. 

Over the course of Harry coming into the whatever-it-is, Louis has noticed something interesting. Something that he would never even tell Zayn. Apart from The Haze, Louis has noticed that Harry not only manages to pick up on his many moods, but he always says the exact thing that makes Louis feel better, without ever actually saying it out loud. 

Of course, Louis notes, he could just be in tune with everyone. Disregarding the fact that Harry has accidentally insulted Zayn several times in a way that still manages to be endearing, Louis thinking that would be completely natural. Zayn, to his credit, attributed it all to Harry being the airhead he seems to be, and din't actually take any offense to the insults. 

Daisy, in the way that she’s been doing a lot of lately, clucks and brings Louis out of his own head. He looks at her to acknowledge that she’s said something, and looks back at Harry- who seems to look rather defeated today. 

This happens, sometimes. He comes in one week looking as if the sun itself shared news of the greatest treasure in the world, looks at Louis the same way he always does- and sometimes. Sometimes he just looks sad. Sometimes his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, don’t pull his dimples out into the world. Louis’ never quite been able to shake the feeling that it has something to do with him. 

Daisy clucks again, which shakes Harry out of his reverie of staring at Louis like he’s waiting for something, and he translates. 

Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he doesn’t get annoyed about this. Or knows that Harry just needs a minute to process. Unlike normal, Harry’s face lights up. 

“She’ll have pancakes!” 

“Really?” Louis asks, incredulous. 

“Sorry, you’re right, that would be crazy for a chicken to eat that much- we’ll have pancakes! Please.” 

Yes, Louis thinks, that was the problem with that. 

"I thought you already had pancakes." He points out. 

"Hm? Oh, no, Daisy had corn. We were discussing the pancakes, though." 

"Right." Louis says. That makes any kind of sense. 

If this were anyone else, Louis would be inclined to mention that it’s eleven thirty, and their breakfast menu officially stopped an hour ago. Had it been anyone else, though, their chicken wouldn’t have been brought onto the counter by his business partner (who he really, REALLY, needs to fire). 

“Sure!” Zayn calls from the back before he could even think to mention any of this (not that he would have). 

“You’re fired.” Louis calls back. Zayn cackles, which can be heard even from the kitchen, and gets started on the pancakes with no eggs. 

He tunes back into Harry just in time to see he looks crestfallen. 

“You’re going to fire him?” he asks, genuinely looking as if he’s about to cry. 

Louis doesn’t know what to do, really, but rushes to console him anyway. 

“No, of course not, love- he’s been my business partner for years now, even if I wasn’t joking I don’t have any actual power over if he’s fired or not.” He spits out. 

Harry looks relieved and vaguely smug, although it’s unclear if it’s because he’s consoled or because Louis called him love without noticing. 

“Oh, that’s alright then.” He smiles, sitting down on the chair next to where Daisy is on the counter, pausing and considering his next move. Louis, used to this by now, stands patiently. 

“I finally watched Mary Poppins last night.” 

Of all the things Louis expected, that wasn’t it. 

“Oh?” 

Harry hums, deep in thought about what to say next. 

“It… Makes sense, culturally, I suppose. Less problematic than most of the era that brought it into the world.” 

“Yeah, well, you know- apart from the whole capitalism thing Walt was pretty good with that stuff I think.” 

He nods. 

“I liked it.” He adds, looking at Louis with The Look again. 

He does it every so often, and it never fully makes sense to him how he knows that he’s doing it, or what he’s doing. But he does; and it affects him. Makes him feel like he’s baring his soul, and he doesn’t know if he likes it or not. 

Thankfully, like usual, Harry backs off. Which, oddly enough is also something Louis doesn’t understand. He’s spent much more time than he would ever admit over the past few months racking his brain for how Harry knows so much about him and his moods and what kind of interaction he needs to feel comfortable, never coming up with anything. 

Still can’t answer the question of why he doesn’t really mind it when Harry does The Look either. Feels almost natural. Feels like he could do it back, if he really wanted to know what he’s thinking. And he often does want to know. Can never quite manage to figure out how The Look comes about, though, from either end. Only knows what it makes him feel. 

Which, obviously; is confused. And kind of tingly. 

“Right.” Louis finally answers. And, as so often happens lately after Harry does The Look, he seems vaguely guilty. Maybe sheepish. So he just nods and goes back to waiting for the food, cooing to Daisy softly the way only he can. 

And unfortunately, Louis does have other customers to serve, so he gets back to work for the meantime- like so often before, promising himself that he’ll ask Harry about it this time. 

That doesn’t happen. What does end up happening is Harry eats the pancakes contently, giving a bite here and there to Daisy. Louis most certainly does NOT watch on from where he’s serving his other /less important/ customers. 

And then, because of course; Niall walks in. 

Niall is the second bastard in Louis’ life. The irish fucker walked in with too much swagger three years ago and never fully left. The multiple grease stains that have never come out of the floorboards agree. 

“Get out.” He says to him in greeting. 

“Lovely day for it, isn’t it Lou?” He replies as he makes his way to the counter. 

Louis sighs. 

“Lovely day for what, Niall?” 

“Well to see my bestest buddy in the whole wide wor- OH MY GOD IS THAT A CHICKEN??” 

Louis follows Niall’s gaze to see Daisy staring right back at them. And Harry, for that matter. 

“What gave it away.” He says dryly. 

Niall, despite every possible sign ever, immediately rushes over to Daisy, who- what? The chicken is walking towards Niall, too. It looks like the damn Marty and Alex reunion from Madagascar. Minus the eating, presumably. 

Presumably.

Unlike the damn Marty and Alex reunion from Madagascar, Daisy walks right up to Niall and lets him pet her. And then jumps on his shoulder, clucking softly. Niall, true to his irish self at all times, laughs it off, keeps messing with her until she sits on his head. 

She seems happy to do it. 

He rushes back over to Louis- 

“Quick! Take a photo!” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“ZAYN!” 

The first bastard in Louis’ life walks out of the backroom. 

“Oh good, Niall’s here early.” 

“Oh leave it alone for a minute, can’t you see I have the most beautiful creature alive on my head? Take a damn picture for me!” 

“I will take several, my liege.” 

“You’re both fired.” Louis chimes in, exasperated, hand running over his face. What is he going to do with all the idiots in his life. 

Daisy clucks at him. She disagrees. They should be promoted. 

“Yes, Daisy, you’re absolutely right. They should be promoted. From garbage boys to garbage men.” He replies. 

Harry snorts. It takes Louis a second to realise he just talked to the fucking chicken. And understood her. What the fuck. He makes eye contact with Harry, raising his eyebrow in what he hopes conveys the 'what the fuck is wrong with your chicken' look, but Harry seems to put a lot of effort into looking innocently at his pancakes. 

The eye contact between them was not missed by the ever-observant Horan, who dutifully is an entire bastard about it. He’s good at his job. 

“Oh, hey mate! Didn’t see you there, are you by chance…” the dramatic pause is presumably only for the benefit of torturing Louis, who has NOT been talking about Harry non-stop for the past two months, thank you- “the owner of this fantastic bird?” he finishes. Barely. The little shit is clearly keeping in a boisterous laugh. 

Harry, thankfully much less observant than I’m-an-Irish-ninja-Horan, does not pick up on Louis choking on his own spit in the background, and answers in his usual Harry fashion. 

“Oh, Daisy doesn’t belong to anyone, do you girl?” 

Daisy clucks. The fuck she does. She’s a free woman. 

“It’s too early for this shit, and I have other customer’s orders to fill.” Zayn chimes in, already moving to the back- having taken as many pictures as deemed necessary. Zayn’s always the one to go for the action shots, after all. 

“Aw come on Zayn-ey, you haven’t even gotten ONE touristy photo of her! What am I supposed to put on my mantle next to my writer’s trophies now?!” Niall yells at him. Zayn flips him off before going through the double doors to the kitchen, even though Niall and Louis both know he's going to make Niall's weird sandwich for him that very minute. 

Daisy clucks at Harry, who looks fucking delighted. 

“Touristy photos, you say?” He asks. That fucker. 

Niall looks suspicious and confused at him. 

“Yes?” 

Louis looks at Harry. Harry spares a brief glance at him, not using his The Look powers, but conveying what’s happening anyway. Daisy is bored with the pancakes, and craves birdy adventure.

And Niall’s the little shit who gets the golden... chicken. 

“What would you do, if I told you that wherever you went in the city for the rest of the day, Daisy here would be happy to go with you for as many photos as you want?”  
Niall gapes at him. Daisy hops off his head and glides to the counter, before turning around to make grave eye contact with Niall.

The chicken fucking nods at him. Slowly. With purpose. And a glint in her eye. She really likes Niall. 

Why is it Niall of all people? Louis wonders, not one ounce of jealousy in his mind. Not one. Unrelated, he’s going to kill Niall. It’s plain to see whoever gets in Daisy’s good books gets into Harry’s by association. 

“This is the best day of my life,” Niall whispers, enamoured and looking at the chicken with love in his eyes. 

Ok, so Louis can kill his other best friend the day AFTER the best day of his life. Mark your watch, Horan, he thinks. 

Harry snorts again. It’s unclear whether it’s at Niall’s comment, or Louis’ thoughts. Louis really wants it to be Niall’s comment. The other option is creepy. 

He blushes anyway. 

“Of course,” Harry continues, “you’d also be taking her on a tour of the city. And you’ll have to talk to her the whole time, and forward any pictures you take of the sites to me.” 

“Confusing as shit, mate, but you could tell me that I’d have to sell my soul for this and I’d still say yes. I have fallen in love with your chicken.” 

Daisy clucks bashfully. Louis lifts his eyes in a prayer to dark gods. 

“With that,” Niall continues, unaware that the wrath of the gods Louis are talking to is imminent, “are you ready to take your leave, my lady?” 

Daisy ruffles her feathers, clucks softly, and literally jumps into Niall’s awaiting arms. 

What the full fuck. 

Niall turns to face Harry slowly, a dramatic and proclaiming look on his face. 

“My most faithful friend, even though you’ve made it strikingly clear,” oh good LORD he’s doing a bit, “that this most wonderful lady belongs to no one, I swear on my heart, my soul, and the God my Ma believes in, that no harm will come to this being of pure light, who has brightened my life in every way within a mere five minutes.” 

Harry nods seriously. Niall, doing his dues, nods back equally seriously. 

Louis wants to die, even as he’s overhearing the dumbest conversation of his life while serving another customer. The customer looks kind of like she wants to die, too, though; so maybe there’s something to be said in that. 

Louis isn’t alone in whatever weirdness his life has become. 

Or maybe he is, because next thing he knows Niall is screeching his goodbyes and running away with the chicken. Literally running. 

And he’s left his lunch sandwich on the bench where Zayn was serving it up. 

“Is it just me,” Zayn asks, “or did Niall Horan just run away with Daisy?” 

“It’s not just you.” Louis grumbles.

"Right." Zayn says, promptly starting to eat the sandwich Niall left. It took months of those sandwiches for Louis and Zayn to begrudgingly accept they were good. Niall has a weird taste in sandwiches. Not that Niall doesn't have a weird taste in everything, which might be why he fell in love with Daisy so quickly. 

If, at this point, anyone had bothered to ask Zayn anything ever, he would have said he's the only one in this weird group they've formed with a braincell. This particular question was avoided, on purpose, by the rest of the group. 

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis shuts him up with a hand. 

“Finish your damned pancakes, bird talker.” He says. 

Harry laughs, though whether it’s in sympathy to Louis’ not-jealousy, or at the whole situation- or at Louis in general, is unclear. Either way, Louis officially has another (incredibly gorgeous) man on his hit list. 

Harry, no doubt understanding the gravity of the weirdness of Louis’ morning, does just that. Not that it's a challenging task, they really are quite good pancakes.

Damn right, Louis /and Zayn/ makes the best damn everything in the city. 

Unfortunately, he gets swept up with the lunch rush that eventually comes through, and doesn’t see Harry slip out. Shame, really, they’d gotten into quite the routine of having some good banter. Zayn calls it flirting, but what does he know? Apart from how to make good pancakes, nothing, Louis thinks bitterly. 

Regardless of if it’s flirting or not, Louis sighs, a little bit defeated. Harry only comes in once a week, and now he can’t even babysit Daisy like he usually does. He’s grown to really like that chicken. 

Oh well, nothing to be done. At least Niall is having the self-proclaimed time of his life today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys ! Wanted to give a quick update because I know I've been absolutely terrible with updating already. I have chapter three in the works, and I like where it's going and how it's outlined but I hate what I've actually written so far; with the stress of end of semester exams for my university and everything it's seriously taken the backburner, but I'm hoping (desperately hoping because I love this story) that I'm going to re-write and be happy with it sometime late next week. Thanks for the patience !


	3. The Chicken Stays at Home. Genuinely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for waiting for this ! The burnout of uni has been real. Hoping to start uploading a bit more now that I'm in break.

Considering how yesterday went, Louis woke up (for the EIGHTH TIME) rather pissed off. He managed to remain pissed off all the way through the breakfast shift. He was even more pissed off when Niall came in at his usual time talking about how amazing Harry and Daisy are. 

His photos looked cool as shit. Needless to say, this pissed off Louis even more. 

Nothing would bring him out of his stupor. Not Niall trying a new, even stranger sandwich (pineapple is on thin ice with pizza let alone a chicken club); not Zayn gushing about an actual boy that likes him to try to distract Louis out of it. 

Not even when Harry walks in. 

Wait what? 

Louis looks back at Harry. 

Briefly, in all of his fantastic grumpiness, he considers that maybe he doesn’t even want to talk to stupidly handsome frog man today. Maybe he should duck under the counter before it’s too late. 

But then they’re making eye contact, and Harry’s entire face softens into something- mushy. Mushy and guilty. 

“Louis I am SO sor-“ he starts saying, before being interrupted by a giant banging sound from the kitchen. 

Louis lifts a finger up to tell him to give him a minute, anger already becoming a part of his distant past- not even waiting to say that, really; he doesn’t have to apologise for anything, he’s new to the town; of course he’d want to go on a weird chicken adventure with Niall (because, really, who wouldn’t now he thinks about it). 

He rushes into the back, ready to call an ambulance and attempt to resuscitate his best friend and even do mouth to mouth if he has to, although that would be absolutely vile- 

Speaking of mouth to mouth. 

Zayn and the guy separate immediately from where they were intertwined. Apparently they can’t hear a stainless steel bowl crash and spill flour everywhere, but they can hear Louis walking in to see if his best mate is dying. How sweet. 

This is not what Louis says. 

“HAIR NETS!” he screeches. Maybe because he can't think of anything better to say. What do you say to that, even? 'Wow, Zayn, very out of character for you to do this- and how he'd get back here in the first place? Front door or back?' (Does that count as an innuendo, Louis wonders to himself. Maybe. Is it funny as fuck if it is? Yes.) 

The guy grabs for his beard while Louis grabs a broom from the corner. 

“OUT! OUT, OUT, OUT! SHOO!” He shouts, hitting him on the behind until he’s out of the kitchen. 

Zayn is too busy blushing and covering his face in mortification to be much actual help; although who he’d attempt to make feel better and how is anyone’s guess. It's entirely possible he's praying very quietly for this to pass without conflict. Fat chance. 

Louis, to his credit; and what a lot of credit he deserves for not doing this- only CONSIDERS spraying him with water like a cat who misbehaved. 

“What the fuck, Zayn.” He says, still fuming. He has the braincell now. He’s never giving it up. 

“Sorry,” Zayn says back, conflicted as to whether he actually means it. It’s probably something like skim milk; yes, it’s absolutely lying about being proper milk- but it’s still made of the same stuff. 

Technically. 

Fucking skim milk. UGH. Now Louis’ pissed about shitty Zayn's boyfriend and his shitty sleep and his shitty morning and shitty skim milk and shitty Niall Fucking Horan Who The Bird Likes Better. 

None of this, he resolutely decides, is secretly because of Harry. Not one bit. The braincell is back to Zayn with that stupid decision. 

Harry, who promised he’d tell Louis what he thought of Golden Girls. 

Harry, who is now in the kitchen, standing behind Louis, and looking more confused than normal. 

“You guys ok? I heard screaming…” he asks, eyeing up Louis’ broom. 

“Get out of my kitchen,” Louis replies, drowning out Zayn's reassurances that he's fine and pushing Harry out as he leaves. 

“Come up with a good reason why that happened.” He says to Zayn, faux casual before the door closes behind him. 

He sighs. 

Maybe its his bad mood (which he doesn’t have, and if he DID, it would be for more reason than Harry not coming and a bad night's sleep; which. He doesn’t get to be put out about the Harry thing now, apparently) but he doesn’t feel his usual spark that he does when he’s with Harry. 

Which, speaking of- he looks worse for wear too. Part of Louis (a big part) wants to make a snide comment about how fun Niall must have been. He swallows it down along with the rest of his mood, and endeavours valiantly to treat Harry as just another customer for today. It means nothing that he’s here. 

“Sorry, Harry, but customers can’t go behind the door.” 

He tilts his head, looking for all accounts like a puppy. He points at Zayn’s who-ever, sitting very sheepish on the barstool. 

“He was. And Niall does, sometimes.” 

“Yes,” Louis grits out, “and he wasn’t supposed to be, and Niall is a long-standing friend.” 

Harry rights his head, uncharacteristically blank even in his concern. Maybe tired? 

“You alright, Lou?” 

“Fucking peachy, Harry, get back into the customer’s side of the café.” Louis does NOT get more pissed off when Zayn doesn’t say diner. 

Whatever. 

Harry, thank god, does what he asked, but not without still looking upset. Looks like neither of them are having good days. 

Louis looks to Zayn’s boy-toy. 

“You’re banned.” 

Mr. Puppy-eyes, entirely looking the part, nods his head sullenly. 

“Yeah I figured. I’m sorry.” 

He looks like he wants to say more but restrains himself, leaving with as much dignity as possible after- putting a tip into the tip jar? 

Of course he put tips in the tip jar, Louis thinks, Zayn never dates terrible people. 

Fuck sakes, he hates immediately taking back what he says. 

“Wait, dude, god damnit you’re not actually banned. I had a terrible sleep and that’s not an excuse to be an ass to the love of my best friends life.” He says.   
Zayn better kiss his ass and take four of his shifts for this. 

Mr. Puppy immediately turns back around, hulking muscle that he is. 

“Yeah?” 

Louis resolutely doesn’t roll his eyes, but definitely does sigh. 

“Yeah. Name’s Louis.” He sticks out his hand. 

“Liam.” Liam says, taking it in a polite hand-shake. You’d think he took a course or something it was that good. 

Louis really needs to re-watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine. And tell Harry about it. 

“Good to meet you Liam, sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances. I think I got the worst sleep of my life last night, not that that’s much excuse for dickishness.” 

Louis can practically feel Harry lighting up beside him;

“You had a bad sleep too?!” 

“…Yes?” Louis says, arching an eyebrow. 

Harry seems to realise how weird it is to be happy for someone to have a bad sleep. A light blush of embarrassment coats his cheeks (absolutely not cute). 

“I mean, I am sorry you got a bad sleep, Lou- I just had one too and I thought it…” He pauses, “I thought it was cool.” He finishes, sheepish.

A lot of sheepishness going on today, apparently. 

Louis does not understand what’s happening, like, at all. 

“I do not understand what’s happening, like, at all,” Liam says, “but I do actually have to go to work. And I don’t want to waste more of your time. So, I’ll just head out.”

Poor guy seems to still be feeling awkward. And like Louis might bite his head off. To be fair to Liam, he's still thinking about it. Or maybe hitting him with the broom. 

Louis nods his head and bids him a good day. Sweet thing that he is, he just shouts bye to Zayn through the door with a blush before walking out. 

Louis turns to Harry, who; on second thought- does actually look tired. And kind of not really here right now. 

“So where’s Daisy?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, she was really tired after her day with Niall yesterday so she stayed home. Too much light, too many loud noises and the like.” 

“A chicken with a sensory processing issue huh? I get that honestly, give her my best.” Good god he just said to give his best to a chicken. And he meant it. Louis isn’t sure whether to count this on his list of regrets or not. 

“So, why did you come in if not to get me to chicken-sit?” He makes the mistake of asking. 

That’s on the list. That’s so high up on the list, it’s right next to when he thought it’d be funny to scare Zayn when he was sick and he actually shat himself. 

But Harry’s face lights up, and it’s like he was never tired in the first place, and maybe it’s not on the list after all. 

“I just wanted to see you! Niall said he does that all the time which means I’m totally allowed to.” 

Louis tries to hide the smile he isn't developing. Over the weeks, Harry’s strange misunderstanding of cultural references and overall weirdness has diminished, but when he says things like that it reminds Louis that when he said ‘new in town’ he meant it literally. There’s something about it that just makes Louis happy; genuinely glad that Harry is always himself, even if that person is a total weirdo who doesn't get cultural references and will probably never fully grasp some sayings, and that has nothing to do with his intelligence.

Although he’s probably in the himbo category by now.

“Well, yeah, Harry- you know if you wanted to see me you could’ve just asked right?” 

Harry blinks. He looks astounded. His lips part, his eyes go wide and doe like, and overall he looks genuinely like a fish out of water. Or maybe like those mud-kips, you know the ones, the ones that can be out of water for up to six hours so long as they’re moist and like to climb up trees for the hell of it. 

“I can?” 

“Yeah, love, you can.” 

There is no fondness in Louis’ voice. Because Louis is not fond over Harry, because Louis doesn’t like Harry. Louis should still be in a bad mood, by all accounts, but he can’t seem to remember when it left and where it’s gone. Maybe it’s just deep in the closet somewhere (pun unintended) and he’ll find it the next time he attempts washing. Or maybe it’s on the moon. 

Any thought about whether or not he should still be in said mood is vanquished, however; when Harry does a little fist pump like that’s the best thing he’s ever heard but he’s trying not to get too excited yet. 

Maybe he’s a little bit fond. Just a smidge. 

“So… I can start bringing Daisy one day and then come again a different time? Without her?” He asks, looking like he’s about to win the lottery.

“Yeah, sure; it’s your prerogative after all.” 

“And maybe I can start… Trying your food? Properly?” 

“Harry, if you’ve listened to me at all over the past few weeks you would have heard me consistently and constantly say we have more than omelettes and grain.”

Louis doesn’t say that most of the time people pay with card or cash and not fucking rubys and emeralds and fucking gold, and some other ones Louis can’t even name but is sure they’re of equal value. Louis doesn’t say that most of the time people pay at the meal and not after they’ve gotten their bird picked up from babysitting, and he doesn’t even spare the thought that he wouldn’t let anybody else do this, or at least consider them trustworthy and wants to get to know them better. 

Much, much better. Biblically, his subconscious supplies. Shut up, the rest of his retorts. 

“No, I know- I just know that I can be kind of… weird?” He doesn’t look embarrassed about it, per say, but he doesn’t look nonplussed either. He’s messing with his hair as he says it, like somehow that’ll stop the words from coming out as awkward as they are. 

“I like weird,” Louis smiles. 

“Ah. Lucky me.” He says, looking for all intents and purposes like someone who wants to continue a conversation but doesn’t know how. 

“I’ll, um. I’ll get going then. I’ll see you next week, Lou.” Good plan, Harry, quit while you're ahead. Zayn certainly didn't and look where that got him. 

“Yeah, Harry, that’ll be great. Also, consider buying sunglasses for your chicken.” 

Harry tilts his head that way that he does, looking like he’s actually considering it, and leaves with a bounce in his step. 

Zayn tentatively walks out of the kitchen. Louis, normally, would have his bad mood spurt back into focus right about now.

“You owe me the most amount of pizza I can stuff into this body and then some. And some weed.” 

Ok, so he’s not letting him entirely off the hook. It’s fair enough.

“Done.” 

“And you’re never doing that again, or I’m telling him about that time you shat your pants.” 

Zayn scrunches his nose like he can still smell the offending turd. 

“I won't.” 

A final thought pops into Louis' head. 

"Where does he work that he doesn't have a shift until the afternoon on a thursday?" 

"Fire department." 

"Of course." Louis says, rolling his eyes before finally actually doing some work. Of course that guy saves kittens.


End file.
